Hide Away, Love
by MangaTheatreShanPrincess2014
Summary: AU. When the news of a Sunagakure bombing attack explodes in tragedy, Shikamaru Nara has nothing to write about. Sent home by his chaotic mother, gates are reopened to a journey he never imagined... But what is his objective? TEMPORARY EDITING HIATUS.
1. PART 1 (Past) - SHIKAMARU: Requests

**Hello everyone! My name is MangaTheatreShanPrincess2014. This is my first NOVEL LENGTH fanfic. Please read, review and I hope you enjoy it - tell me what you think and I will get back to you ASAP. Thankyou :)**

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**Main pairings:** Shikamaru x Kid Sand Siblings (ShikaTema, ShikaKan, ShikaGaa), Yoshino x Shikamaru, Asuma + Shikamaru.

**Other ****pairings:** AsuKure, KibaIno, NaruHina, NejiTen, NaruSai, SasuSaku (mentioned). Will have ChoujiIno later.

**Warning:** AU (some canon), adult themes, character death/birth scene. Mild language. 1st Person/ 1st Person Alternate POV.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. The characters all belong to Masashi Kishimoto, not me. Only I own my ideas and creative license.

****FEATURES KID SAND SIBLINGS. ALSO USES AUSTRALIAN SPELLINGS.** - Temari (12), Kankuro (10), Gaara (7).**

**All praise and constructive criticisms are very much appreciated. Happy reading!**

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**PART ONE: THE PAST**

**CHAPTER ONE: Requests**

**SHIKAMARU**

"_**All children, except one, grow up." - J.M. Barrie**_

Once upon a time, all adults lived in a land of paradise. That paradise was called childhood. It was the time when one didn't have to worry about anything - no studying, no chores apart from feeding the dog, no proper responsibilities like driving to the supermarket just so there was food on the table every night. Homework was just reading books and memorising times tables - twenty minutes to half an hour a night, and that was it. And if you couldn't read, there was always someone who sat down beside your bed to read you a bedtime story each night and make you smile. Who cared if your room was a mess - no matter how many times Mum nagged you to pick up your towel from the floor or make your bed, you still got a pass for it anyway.

At least, that was my ideal childhood. Ordinary. But no matter how wild my imagination was – when I was a kid, my life in sad reality was far from it. Right from the beginning, it was screwed into my head that life was - or is going to be - troublesome. No doubt about it. In fact, adult life now hid whole new level of troublesome I never knew existed. One side of me wanted to grow up quick so I'd be like the other adults I had seen in town: tall, smart, sophisticated with their futures planned out way ahead of them. I wouldn't need to worry about a thing. Another side wanted me like Peter Pan: stay a little kid forever. Once upon a time, most kids believed in fairy tales. And nobody ever told them that fantasy would disappear when they grew up.

Honestly.

First of all, I grew up in the countryside on a farm. It was my Dad's property, where he bred a clan of free-roaming deer. Most days he'd go out to work in the local town's medical centre, which is at least two-and-a-half hours by train out of the Konoha CBD district. I spent most of my kid years at home with Mum on the farm. And Mum still runs the entire Nara Estate Holiday Village business practically singlehandedly. At first, you'd think that homeschool would be fun being able to sleep in late and not wear a uniform; spend time running about on the property all day long. Well, I did that. But fun never lasted for long.

Sometimes on weekends, if I was lucky, Mum would leave me alone. I'd often find myself staring out of my bedroom window - pen in hand, paper blank - watching the clouds pass. I was a dreamer. I still am. I'd gaze down the hill at the holiday-goers having the time of their lives. I'd watch the black smoke curling from the cozy little log-cabins in the distance. I'd close my eyes and feel the weight of the world spin away—

"Shikamaru," a deep voice pops out of nowhere and I jolt at the sound of my name. "Shikamaru. Wake up."

"What?" I say, and I'm suddenly pulled back into the faculty lounge where the clock on the wall reads 3:30PM. I'm sitting here by a window opposite my lecturer, Professor Asuma Sarutobi, with the shōgi game-board stretched out between us. The sound of the ticking pendulum echoes loud and monotone over the burble of the radio.

"It's your turn."

"Sorry," I say. "I'm just thinking."

"You're taking an awfully long time there," he says. "You OK?"

"I'll blame writer's block for that," I tell him, trying not to mind. "It's nothing. Really."

I follow his gaze down at the chess board on the table, and the pieces are scattered everywhere in a disorderly, untidy fashion. They were neat strategically placed at the beginning of the game. Now, half of them have slipped off the board, piled in a heap like sand on a sidewalk. I'm tempted to line them up again, at the same time I'm not really bothered. I don't know. I give up. So I leave it that way.

I guess that's the story of my life.

The entire problem is I want my life to be orderly, smooth and hassle-free. Safe. Easygoing. I'm supposed to be at that age where everyone else is expecting you to be going out getting a casual job, kissing girls, celebrating the prime of my so-called innocent youth. At least Professor Might Guy tells me that's what I should be doing. At the same time, I still don't see the advantage of always being in a hurry. So, I take my time.

"Don't be silly," says Asuma. "I'll let you daydream if you need to, genius."

"I _need_ a pretty good daydream," I say. I prop myself up on my elbows, looking directly at the bearded man. "My stories and poems haven't been that great lately."

It's the end of term and the rest of us have a new project to do for this course - Creative Writing and English Studies. It's an odd timing, since usually we have the entire unit wrapped up by the end of the year. We were focusing on writing for a large target audience for most of the term, in which now we have to write a long assignment: a novella for children. We have the whole three-month holiday to do it. Asuma laughed when I told him about my reported case of writer's block earlier today.

"_Funny," he said. "I thought you'd be good with kids."_

_Í shook my head. "That's not the same thing."_

"_I meant writing kid's fiction," he said. "It's the same as always, just different topics. The best ones might get a publishing deal."_

"_Such a drag," I muttered. "I'll think about it later."_

_And the conversation crashed there._

"Asuma?"

A third voice sings, floats in from somewhere and Kurenai appears - pale, weary and just turned seven months pregnant. I push my chair back, stand up and bow to her politely - uttering a quick 'hello.' I sit back down again, taking note of expectant curves bulging underneath her red pinafore. In fact, Kurenai the musical professor is one of the few women I find the _least_ troublesome. The intriguing thing about she and Asuma is not only are they a married couple, they both work in the same place, Konoha State University, even though they major in completely different areas. Yet at the same time music is just one step away from storytelling, like the way Kurenai's piano playing or casual singing becomes Asuma's muse to write.

Or, one step away from romance.

"What's up, Kurenai?" Asuma asks her gently. I hear a hint of suggestive affection in his voice. "How's everything?"

"Fine," she says tiredly, sitting on the couch next to us. She strokes her swollen stomach. "The baby's been kicking me all day. You?"

Asuma rakes a hand through his spiky brown hair. "Same as usual," he replies.

She turns to whisper something in Asuma's ear and he chuckles. "Of course."

Awkward.

"We were just playing our usual game of shōgi," I explain, trying to fill the silence.

"You read the paper yet, Shikamaru?" Asuma says.

"Not yet," I reply. I don't want to.

Kurenai shakes her head. "What's in today?" she asks. "I haven't read the news in ages."

She leans over a nearby coffee table, shuffling magazines to find today's paper. She then jumps back in shock, as if struck by static. "_Suna Storm?_" she reads the blaring headline, alarmed.

"I told you," Asuma says, matter-of-factly. "The bomb-raid in Sunagakure happened three days ago. It's official - The Fourth Kazekage is dead. His right-hand assistant's reportedly missing."

"Oh no," I mutter under my breath. "That's depressing."

Just so you know, I've never been to Sunagakure before – apparently isn't that far from Konoha.

"What will they do?" Kurenai says. "How shocking."

"I dunno," says Asuma. "Tsunade Senju has apparently stepped in, sending people here for disaster relief—"

"The President?"

There's a vibration in my pocket and urgent ringing appears from nowhere. It takes me a while to realise it's my own ringtone.

"I'm sorry," I say. "That'll be Chouji. I'll be right back."

I push my chair back again and head for the corridor, leaving the door slightly ajar behind me. I press the phone to my ear. Unfortunately, it's not my best friend the food-lover - but the most troublesome woman on the planet.

"Mum?"

"Of course it's me, you silly goose," Mum says. Lovely, isn't she? "Now, Shikamaru, what are you doing?"

"I'm playing shōgi with Asuma."

"Typical!" she hisses. "Shouldn't _you_ be doing work right now?"

I wince. "I have writer's block," I say quickly. "It's a bad case. And I didn't expect you to be calling right now. Can I…"

"Call back later?" she finishes. "No, you are not putting the phone down, Shikamaru. The reason I'm calling is an emergency."

"What is it?" I say. "I have a pretty full schedule at the moment – I've got stuff planned with Chou—"

"Very much doubt it!" Mum interrupts. "Considering how lazy you are, I know you too well. You can't lie to me."

Great.

"Mum," I say again. "Just tell me what's the matter and I'll do it, OK?"

"I need you to help me solve a dilemma," Mum snaps. "This is a job that one person alone can't do."

_For goodness' sake,_ I think. "Mum, is this about the explosion that started World War—"

There's buzzing of chatter in the background. I can hear she's got some visitor. Perhaps one of her friends or a neighbour has come to visit.

"Mum?" I say. "You there?"

She's there. I can tell. But I can hear her muttering to someone at the other end of the line. I just can't tell who.

But why would a neighbour be bothered to cross hectares up the hill to Mum's house anyway?

"Mum!"

She startles and tunes back into the conversation. Then she sighs. "I need you here at home on the farm," she says. "Maybe it's better if I don't tell you why."

I frown. "What...?"

"Come here first," she says. "And then we'll talk. Professor Asuma's meant to be at work now, isn't he? So don't waste his time. You'll be here at 8PM sharpish, please, I've already booked the tickets for the 5 o'clock train…."

At that point I hold the phone at arms length away from my ear. I'll tell you one reason why I consider my mother "troublesome". It's not about her words, or her I'm-a-tough-lady-and-you-can't-mess-with-me kind of attitude. It's because she always telling me what to do, what not to do, but never stating what she actually wants directly. It's always some hint: "you'll see for yourself." It's one of her little mind tricks to get me to do things I don't want to do. Whenever she does that, it means I have to figure out what she wants, and then act quickly whether I want to or not. And if I don't give her what she wants, she gets angry.

"Shikamaru?" she yaps. The feeling reaches a hand through the phone receiver, shaking me. "Hey, are you listening?"

"Yes, yes, I am," I say, putting the phone to my ear again. "So you want me there by eight o'clock tonight?"

"And you are catching the 5PM train," she says. "So I suggest you leave the game and pack your bags now, seeing it's nearly four. You can play again next time."

I hesitate. I want to yell and stamp my foot for forcing me out of safe haven – all without asking. But instead, I wind up saying, "You can count on me, Mum."

"I had better," Mum says. "You're already eighteen, for god's sake. It's time you grew up, used your smart brain and take some _responsibility_."

I hate that word, responsibility. "I'll remember," I say, my voice a squeak. "Not to worry."

"Oh, good," she says. "I'll see you then, so don't forget."

We hang up.

That troublesome woman.

I knew I was forgetting something at the end of the last lecture, but I wasn't sure what. And my mum is just what I need. Not. And now for the Mid-November holidays, I may as well kill myself with boring chores and nag, nag, nagging - Kami knows how long - even if I know my mum's just making me do it for my own good. And I'm thinking that my own life itself was already enough to deal with in the first place.

So I go back to the room, trying to act as casually as I can. "That wasn't Chouji," I say stiffly. I start to gather my notebooks and my laptop.

Asuma looks back at me. "Hey, where are you going? We haven't finished the game yet."

"Sorry, sensei," I say. "I can't. Mum just said she needs me back home on the farm. I'm going to visit her and apparently I have a train to catch at half past five."

"Isn't that a bit sudden?"

I shrug. "I don't know what she wants," I say. "She's not going to tell me. Maybe, when I get back here you'll be reading best story you've ever read. I might get a publishing deal. Just you wait."

Asuma laughs.

I bow and hurry towards the door, books in hand. "And good luck with the rest of your pregnancy, Kurenai, if I don't see you."

She smiles. "Thanks, Shikamaru."

"Fair enough, then," Asuma tells me. "Just write when you have a moment's spare. I think you can do it, trust me. Just be brave."

_Just be brave. _He always says that.

I head out with a quick, "see you soon."

His words sink into my mind and they feel like the last.


	2. PART 1 (Past) - Answers

**CHAPTER TWO: Answers**

**SHIKAMARU**

This is weird.

Firstly, I hear Asuma talking about a bombing attack on Sunagakure. Then less than five minutes later, Mum calls me straight out of the blue with an emergency - but won't tell me a reason why. Maybe I'm the one who's going crazy, or Mum's just playing another one of her mean mind tricks on me.

But she couldn't have.

If she was only humouring me, why would she email me the train tickets behind my back and force me home on the spot like this?

The last time I was ordered to come home was two years ago, when my dad Shikaku was terminally ill. I remember that moment when Mum opened the door, took one look at me and burst into tears. Of course, she had a go at me - and it drove me completely insane - but all I wanted her to know was one thing:

That I cared.

Now I'm standing here waiting on the front porch - surrounded by the pine forest and limestone walls, wired fences hidden within the curling black gates. As I stand here on the cool cement, the dark night is more alive than I remember it. The melody of thunder grumbles in the distance. I watch the rain pattering against the rooftops and down the gutter. For a second, I'm expecting to see the little eight-year-old me, staring out the misty windows into the landscape illuminated in shadows.

I can feel my childhood here. I can breathe in the vapour emanating from under the door.

So I lean against the balustrading - gazing at the silver moon riding high. I get lost into the abyss of twinkling stars and purple clouds. Then the next thing I know, there's a creak from behind me and a familiar voice I would know from a mile away.

"You're late."

I turn around to find the face that belongs to it. "Seriously, Mum," I say. "I come all the way here for you and yet you tell me I'm tardy? It's soaking wet out here."

Mum sighs. "Just get in here then."

I drag my suitcase to the door, haul it over the threshold and step into the genkan inside. "My troublesome mother…. You haven't changed a bit. Sure, it's nice to see you again."

"Nice to see you again too," she says, shutting the door behind me. "How's it going, Shikamaru?"

"Fine," I say, sliding my muddy shoes onto an empty shoe rack. I shut my umbrella and put it into the vase. "Just as well you called me here for the end of year holidays anyway."

"Have you eaten yet?"

I hesitate. "They had toasted sandwiches on the train."

"You sure that's enough?"

"Mum, I'm fi—"

In the background a strange shadow appears on the wall. The matching figure slides down the staircase railing, dragged and draped in a too-big yukata. It takes me a while to register the figure is a little girl.

A little _girl._

"Yoshino-san, I—" she begins and stops in her tracks, dropping the hem of her skirt. She looks at me, and then at Mum. "Is he the prince?"

Shocked, I take a step back. I can barely believe my eyes. "Mum," I say. "Mum, what's going on? Since when did you…"

"I was going to tell you," Mum says. "That's why I asked you here."

I turn to the girl, studying her features. I swear I've seen her before, once maybe - but I just can't remember where. She looks at least nine years old. Her aquamarine eyes shine with youth and innocence, wide and amazed. Her hair is in one of the strangest styles I have ever seen; four wild blonde tufts sticking out in all directions. The yukata she's wearing, I realise, is Mum's, which drags across the kitchen tiles like a bride's wedding train.

"Yes, Temari, he's the person you just saw in the photo."

_What photo?_

"Temari?" I echo. "You mean, like the toy handball?"

She nods. "Temari Sabaku," she says.

"Where'd you come from?"

"Sunagakure."

My stomach does a backflip. I can barely believe my ears. "Y-you're from the bombing attack?"

She looks at me sadly, "yeah."

"How old are you?" I ask.

"Twelve."

Sheesh.

At that moment, I see two boys step into the kitchen behind Temari. The elder one has on a black cat-ear hoodie and purple zinc paint striped across his cheeks. His younger brother huddles beside him, a tell-tale insomniac with dark eye-rings like a raccoon. His auburn hair is fuzzed up, flopped over his forehead where his eyebrows should be, but aren't. His fringe is part on the side, exposing the kanji 'love' inked in red on the side of his forehead. Both their faces together shared a faint resemblance; a shadowing of each other's features.

Mum puts her hands on her hips. "I hope you haven't tampered with anything of mine upstairs, you two," she says sternly. She points a palm toward me, "Come and meet my son."

I try to smile, uttering a reluctant 'hello'. "I'm Shikamaru Nara," I say. "Nice to meet you."

The ghost of a smile crawls past the elder boy's lips. "I'm Kankuro," he says. He points to his brother. "And that's our Gaara - he's only seven."

"We're the Sand Siblings," the younger boy says. But he doesn't look up. "And my sister is the most annoying person you will ever meet."

"Gaara!" Temari hisses. "Shut up."

My heart skips a beat. These three kids are all related. And together… without one scratch.

"You're _all_ bomb-raid evacuees from Sunagakure?" I blurt out, amazed.

"We only came to Konoha because it's safer here, _jaan,_" says Kankuro. I notice the smart, off-hand rhythm of his speech. "Well, that's what we heard anyway. The army lady dropped us."

". . ."

Mum's face softens a little. "It's OK, Temari," she says. "You can all go now. Count all the photos or something. I'll call you when it's bedtime, OK? Just give us one minute."

The Sand Siblings obediently leave the kitchen together upon Mum's word.

I lean against the pillar, blinking in the hard electric light. I hate surprises.

This one is the biggest shock to my system yet.

The room spins around me and for a moment I feel like fainting. "I think I've figured it out already," I tell Mum, even though I'm struggling to grasp the concept. "I know why I am here."

Mum sighs. "It's the busiest time of the year," she says, throwing a tea towel over her shoulder. "I've got a group of 25 people staying at the Guest Houses in December that need catering for."

I nod. "Okay…"

"And the last thing I need right now are three extra mouths to feed."

I frown, confused. "But sending me here means I'd be another mouth to feed."

"No, you're not," she says, getting back to the dishes. "Perhaps it would be great if you could be a little more responsible?"

There's that dreaded word again.

"Yeah, okay... " I look at her quizzically. "But what do you want me to do?"

Mum silences me with her famous glare. "Don't look at me like that!" she snaps, and I jump at her forceful tone. "Are you that slow? I'm not about to become someone else's slave, and that's why I need your help. Did you hear me? The ANBU lady just dropped them here on my doorstep like a parcel."

She goes off into a long winded ramble about the kids I just met, and I tune out of the conversation. I struggle to picture her situation, but the images in my mind are scattered about. She goes on and on, and I stifle a groan. How troublesome. I'll tell you one thing, though - it's funny how Mum's always telling me how I'm lost in a cloudy world of strange thoughts and wishful fantasies, and yet goes off on a tangent herself. Talk about hypocrisy.

I watch as the moonlight in the window captures her shadow across the floor. The night is alive. I watch the purple clouds part in the velvet sky, and the world around me blurs away—

"Are you listening to me?"

Suddenly everything shifts back into focus and reality slaps me in the face. It feels like a punch. "Yes, yes I'm listening," I say quickly. _Phew. That was close. _

"Stop daydreaming," Mum says, swatting me with the tea-towel. It cracks like the sound of a whip.

I quickly search my mind for what she wants to hear, "I-I'll try to help you," I say, almost whimpering. "But I've already enough on my mind right now to worry about. I have to do a long assignment for Asuma and I'm tearing my hair out just thinking about it. It's impossible."

"What assignment is it? Another six-thousand worded essay?"

"That's not even a scratch. I have to write a children's novella. The best ones may be get a publishing deal."

Mum then looks at me with a strange shine in her eyes. "Perfect!" she beams. "My point exactly."

God, why is my mother so confusing?

"What do you mean by that?" I say. "I have the worst case of writer's block in history."

She turns her back towards me to stack a few plates away. She mutters something into the cupboards but her voice is so muffled I can't hear a thing she's saying.

Then I push my suitcase aside and turn towards the back kitchen door. As though they had a mind of their own, my feet walk me into the main foyer. I find myself testing doorknobs and opening random cupboards without much thought. It's as though some higher power switched my mind onto some bizarre autopilot mode.

"Shikamaru?" Mum says, clearly this time. I see her appear at the bench top counter, yelling at me. "What are you doing? There's nothing in there!"

"Mum, where's the linen cupboard?" I say. "Do they have blankets in the sleepout?"

_What the heck, Shika?_

"I've already made the beds earlier," she says. "Why?"

At that moment, I stop and the world feels like it's spinning again. This writer's block is officially driving me insane. I only just found out today about the bombing attack and it's all just a big, big coincidence. This is not happening. Like I told you, this is just weird.

I quickly drill over the possible answers to her question and the words form in my mind - but when they come out, I know it's not the answer my mother is expecting to hear.

"Because I'm going to take them there."


	3. PART 1 (Past) - Impressions

**PART ONE: THE PAST**

**CHAPTER THREE: Impressions**

**SHIKAMARU**

They say that life is full of surprises. Like people, there are good and bad surprises - depending on how you perceive them. Either you embrace them like they are the last thing on Earth, or you loathe them and avoid them at all costs. But the thing about surprises is that you don't know until it hits you. And usually, they happen in the times when you least expect them to.

Sometimes, your life may change in the space of a second and you may never know it…. until you make one stupid, quick decision.

One minute, you could be the guy who can barely get your head straight around doing your fair share of group work and fortnightly essays, let alone understanding the world of troublesome women. You could be the guy waiting for the storm clouds to clear - wishing life could run smoothly and slowly the way you planned it. And then, you find yourself drenched by never-ending rain of responsibility… all over again.

I groan.

Inside myself.

So I swipe my suitcase, backpack and computer-bag from the kitchen and drag myself out into the main foyer again. I begin to wander my way up the stairs, and moments later I am met with strange green eyes and my foot brushing against fabric.

"Move your stupid foot, Mister Lazy."

I almost jump out of my skin. It's the little girl, Temari. "Sorry," I mutter. "I might just point out to you that you're blocking the staircase. So, would you mind moving over a little, perhaps?"

"You know you have the slowest reaction, don't you?" she says. She leans against the wall, crossing her arms and pouting in a way that scarily reminds me of Mum. "I guess that's typical of a lazy person like you, _Prince _Shikamaru Nara."

"Stop calling me a prince," I say, "Because I'm not a prince. And I don't have time—"

"Hmph. Liar."

"I'm just hoping you haven't messed about in my room," I mutter. "Have you?"

Temari scoffs. "Yeah right," she says. "'Cause I'm so super-sweet and cute and innocent I would never do such a thing. I'm a good girl."

"I can kind of see that."

"You do realise what you said you were going to do, didn't you?" she says.

"Do what?"

She shuffles aside and slides her way up the railing, her footsteps shuddering as I follow her from behind. "You said you're going to take care of us."

I frown. "Where on earth did you get that idea from?" I say, confused. "I didn't say anything. Now move over."

"Er, yes. Actually you did."

"No, I didn't," I say, persistently.

We fall to silence as I struggle to haul my bags up the last steps; my back aching and my head feeling like a stone. I watch Temari as she hurries ahead of me. Somehow she's the first to beat me to the door, without tripping over her her feet or the hem of her too-big yukata. Her sleeves, draped over doll-like hands, look as though they could hold the entire contents of my backpack inside them. When she walks, she has the posture and poise of a dancer, once upon a time. I can hear her humming softly under her breath. She then leans against the doorway with a familiar "I'm-a-tough-little-woman," kind of look. As I reach towards her, I see her kick her skirts out of way, just like how Mum used to do. Then I'm standing next to her and I can feel the ghost of my mother's younger days haunting me.

Scary.

"Troublesome little girl," I mutter, and Temari whips round with a face full of attitude. Her hearing is surprisingly as sharp as a cat's.

"You don't like me," she says. "I don't like you either."

With a theatrical sigh, she opens the door. Reluctantly. I drag my suitcase in, flick the switch and the room lights slowly itself up. Everything is here as I left it, yet it feels empty, cold and alone. My old bookcase is still stacked full with my favourite childhood novels, piano books, comics and used crossword magazines. My art-stationery collection and old sketchbooks sit in a corner opposite my desk among dusty debris. My cartoon sketches of Disney characters still pinned up on my cork-board; film posters adorning the wall next to my bed - its pages curled with age. I collapse onto the naked bed, sinking into the expanse of the mattress.

"You know I've got a lot of stuff to unpack," I say.

"What kind of things?" she says. "I wouldn't be too surprised if you need your mum to help you, you know - that suitcase is huge. _Not._"

"Excuse me?" I say. "That's rude, and this conversation's officially over. Geez… how could you say such a thing?"

Temari ignores my rhetoric. "I can say whatever I want," she says coolly. "It's a democracy, right? And usually I wouldn't drag myself out dealing with people if I didn't have to - but I just met you, so you can't just tell me to go away. _That's_ rude."

"Sorry," I say. "Now don't shoot me. I'm trying to get my head straight."

"Hurry up then," she says. "It doesn't take that much effort to think, does it?"

"Troublesome," I say again.

Temari rolls her eyes. "Oh, troublesome, troublesome, troublesome," she repeats after me, "Everything's troublesome to you, isn't it? That's your favourite word."

I scratch the side of my neck. "You're annoying," I say. "Just so you know, I don't make stupid, quick decisions. I just chose the safe option for now."

"Oh, really?" she says after a moment's pause. "So you're just interested in being "safe"? That way you won't have to do anything, right? Hn. I think I know why you did that."

"Why?"

"'Cause you're a lazy jackass."

_For Kami's sake,_ I think. For the millionth time, I don't need other people to remind me that I'm the first-class runaway. Or on Asuma's terms, a brilliant slacker. I know I am all of these things. _Lazy jackass. _It's not a bad list I'm building up.

"For your information," I say. "I'm not that kind of indolent imbecile. You hardly know me anyway. We've been talking for only five minutes."

"So you say," Temari says. "And for _your _information, Nara, we're also the Fourth Kazekage's kids—"

I nearly fall off the mattress. "_What?"_

"I'm the Fourth Kazekage's princess," she says. "Our Dad was the king, and he's gone. Heaven knows where Uncle Yashamaru went."

"Who the heck is Uncle Yashamaru?"

"Control freak babysitter," she responds in a robotic voice. "Dad's right-hand man. Missing in action. Everyone hates him."

So, not only have I been called out of the city for some unknown reason - I've now been bombarded with a trio of kids - all of whom are related to one of the most powerful families in the world. The Fourth Kazekage is dead. They're fending for themselves. There's nobody watching behind them.

The pieces are just starting to come together.

"Back up," I say. "Your dad is the Fourth Kazekage, and he's dead. You're not grieving for him?"

"I never cry," she says shortly. "Crying is for losers."

"Look," I say. "You obviously have no _idea_ how lucky you are to be here. You successfully escaped a bomb-raid and the three of you are here - alive and well. That isn't shocking? Sheesh!"

"Dad didn't care for us, sadly enough," she says. "And I don't care. I hate Dad. He never paid any attention to us and Uncle Yashamaru picked on Gaara. When the bombs hit the buildings, everyone left us behind and they forgot all about us. The Suna Guards dropped us here."

"You know hate's a strong word," I say.

Temari ignores my statement. "Your notebook is sticking out of your pocket."

I reach into my pocket and slap it on the bedside table. "So?" I say. "What's the problem with that? I carry this everywhere I go so I can write my ideas down."

"Ideas?"

"I want to be a writer when I grow up."

Temari lets out a small giggle. "You're already a grown up, idiot," she says, pretending to swat me. "You're supposed to be the person taking care of us…. Oh, I forgot - you're too lazy. So much for being Prince Charming, because I'm so _charmed _by your unwillingness to save me, Princess Temari Sabaku I of Sunagakure, heiress to the Fourth Kazekage's throne."

I groan. "Not this again_," _I sigh. "You're one insolent, annoying, impertinent, evil little Princess indeed. I didn't say I was caring for you, silly goose."

"Yeah, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes you did," she says. "You said you're going to take us to the sleepout, so it must be true, right? You were the one who implied it in the first place, didn't you?"

_Implied it._

Why couldn't she just take my words as they were?

Girls. They_ have_ to make things difficult to understand.

I sit up, swing my legs across the mattress and move towards the door. "What a drag," I mutter under my breath.

Oh, how I hate first impressions.


End file.
